


The Boys of October

by abigail89



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Hopeful Ending, M/M, World Series, boys bonding over baseball, yay for baseball in the 23rd century
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 20:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2521193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Pike meets the doctor that saved his life almost two years ago in a sports bar. They bond over baseball and bourbon and become more than friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boys of October

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://st-xi-kink-meme.livejournal.com/9684.html?thread=8730324#t) at the [](http://st-xi-kink-meme.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://st-xi-kink-meme.livejournal.com/)**st_xi_kink_meme** part 7, I claimed in March 2010 (and that was closed a zillion years ago.) It’s taken me this long. *hangs head in shame*  
>  -> Phil Boyce’s ‘beautiful boy’ comes from [](http://imachar.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://imachar.livejournal.com/)**imachar** ’s masterful “The Weight of a Man” series and is used with permission. Cheers, my darlin'!  
> -> Beta'd by the incomparable [](http://weepingnaiad.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://weepingnaiad.livejournal.com/)**weepingnaiad** who took a raw story and beat it into something approaching readable. Thank you, my dear friend.

*~*

Christopher Pike takes another long draw on his beer. The crowd in the Jupiter Sports Bar is starting to become more crowded, and more noisy, as the time for the start of the first game of the World Series draws closer. As sports bars go, this is one of the nicer ones--the food is decent; the vid-screens are new and large, and the sound is crisp; the chairs, comfortable and clean. Disagreements are settled with credits rather than fists. Always a plus. The beer selection is outstanding, one of the main reasons Chris likes to come here. And, it’s close to home.

What’s not to like?

He takes another sip, contemplating the bottom of the glass which he can now see, and looks up at the bar, trying to decide if he wants to stick with this IPA or try the raspberry stout the guy at the next table is declaiming as the best damn beer he’s had in ages. He knows he should never listen to drunk guys speaking in absolutes, but the stout sounds interesting.

It’s then he notices a dark-haired man at the bar; he’s leaning forward, giving the barkeep his order. He has broad shoulders that taper to a slim waist; his jeans hug slender hips and the swell of a firm ass. _Nice ass._

The man hands over his credit chip, then turns, beer in hand.

Pike stares, then his brain judders to a stop as he realizes he’s been developing a slight lust for the ass of Lt. Commander Dr. Leonard McCoy.

McCoy surveys the bar, probably looking for an empty table. His eyes connect with Pike, who gives him a nod. Pike is rewarded with a brilliant smile, one that Pike has never seen in all the years he’s known the surgeon. McCoy makes his way towards him, his eyes never breaking contact, his smile growing broader as he gets closer.

Pike rises, his own smile threatening to split his face. “Dr. McCoy,” he says, putting out his hand.

“Admiral!” McCoy takes his hand, gripping it tightly. “My god, you look fantastic.”

Pike feels a surge of emotion welling up inside. This brilliant young doctor had saved his life, his legs, his career because of his tenacity and skill. He’d learned from Phil Boyce, his one-time CMO, just how much McCoy had done during that surgery to remove the Centurion slug. “There aren’t many surgeons who could’ve had a successful outcome on this kind of surgery, Chris,” Boyce had told him. “And no surgeon in Starfleet comes even close to the talent of McCoy. You were damn lucky he was aboard your ship.”

Pike can only nod in response now, to McCoy’s next question. “What a difference these eighteen months have made,” he’s saying. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you, of course, while we were out in space. Dr. Waterman contacted me from time to time for an informal consult, but there’s nothing like seeing you for myself.”

Pike, through his nearly overwhelming emotion, feels McCoy’s physician eyes assessing him, and it makes him chuckle. McCoy looks intently into his eyes, then at a spot on his face; he grips Pike’s hand a little tighter, and Pike returns it. That seems to snap McCoy out of doctor mode. “Sorry,” he says with a small grin. “Occupational hazard.”

“I must be fascinating to you,” Pike says. He instantly catches what he’s said. “Uh...medically speaking.”

McCoy blushes faintly, something Pike notes with some curiosity. “I have to admit, reading your records from two hundred light years away isn’t a proper substitute for seeing you whole and healthy in front of me. But--” he drops Pike’s hand and then holds it out, indicating they should sit--”I am _not_ your doctor. Your physical therapy team has done a magnificent job of guiding your recovery.”

“Yes, thanks to your initial surgery,” Pike says. McCoy shakes his head, and Pike points a finger at him. “And don’t you dare minimize or deny it. I’m here because of you. I’m well because of you. Thank you.”

McCoy’s gaze is steady, but his face takes on a serious look. “You’re welcome. But really, I was just doing my job.”

“And in my book, it looks like I owe you drinks into the next millenium.”

That brings a smile back to McCoy’s handsome face. “Well, I won’t turn it down, at least the next round.”

“Dinner?”

“Careful now. Don’t want these folks to think we’re on a date or anything.”

Pike regards him. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

“‘Course not. But the real question here is, Admiral, are you a Sox fan or a Braves fan?”

“Let’s just say I’m a baseball fan,” Pike replies. He draws on the last of his beer, checking out McCoy who is also drinking down most of his.

McCoy puts down his glass. “Ah. Favorite team didn’t make it, eh?”

Pike scowls. “Damn Giants. I take it you’re pulling for the Braves?”

“Absolutely. They are the galaxy’s team.”

“Tell you what--let’s make this interesting.” Pike leans forward. “I’ll pull for the Sox,” he says, tapping the table. “Loser buys dinner for game two.”

“You’re on. Hope you’re not going to regret this.” McCoy sits back in his chair, relaxed and smiling.

 _Not a chance,_ Pike thinks.

*~*

Pike enters The Jupiter ten minutes before the start of game two. He’d wanted to get there thirty minutes ago, to make sure he could score an optimal table, but a meeting with the _Perseus_ command team ran long. Not that he’s upset about it because the meeting had been extremely fruitful and revealing. Then he’d had to run home to change, and well, life just hadn’t been going according to plan.

But now, entering the bar, he notices it’s much more crowded than the last night and all the screens are tuned to the baseball game. To his delight, McCoy is seated at a table near the back, but perfectly angled towards one of the screens. He notes that the doctor’s face lights up when he sees him, then waves.

“Admiral!”

Pike makes his way through the maze, inordinately pleased that McCoy had arrived first, and that the Braves had won last night, allowing him to buy dinner and drinks. He walks up and takes McCoy’s outstretched hand; it’s cool and moist from the beer he’d been holding, but the man’s smile is warm. “Leo, I thought we agree to be on a first name basis off duty.”  
McCoy shakes his head sheepishly. “Sorry about that, _Chris_. It was out of my mouth before I could stop it.”

 _And what a mouth it is_ , Pike thinks. He could imagine that mouth, those _lips_ , doing all sorts of delicious things to--

McCoy licks his lips, which causes Pike’s stomach to flip. Now it’s his turn to look away. “Thought we had this worked out. I’m the one buying the drinks this week.”

“Well, seeing as you’re buying me dinner since the Braves whupped the Sox last night--you sure you want to keep pulling for a shit team?”

“Now, now. They got to the Series, didn’t they?” Pike answers as he sits. “It’s early. The Braves may stumble.”

“Not likely,” McCoy says.

And true to his prediction, the Braves do indeed beat the hapless Sox. Again.

“Not only do I owe you a home-cooked meal, but also a bottle of Woodford,” Pike says, as he swirls the last smidge of bourbon in his glass. He drinks it down, and stretches his back. “Good game, though.”

McCoy has the good grace to demure. “The bourbon is completely unnecessary unless we share it. But I definitely won’t say no to home cooking.”

They rise. Pike picks up his jacket from the back of the chair. “Excellent. I’ll comm you directions to my place. Feel free to dress more casually.”

McCoy looks down at his jeans and button-down shirt, as they walk to the door. “Any more casual and I’ll be down to my skivvies.” He laughs.

“Wouldn’t mind that,” Pike replies softly, dead serious.

“What?”

Pike realizes he’s embarrassed the younger man. He chuckles and waves his hand. “Nothing. Just seeing--never mind.”

In the shadows of the bar’s entryway, McCoy takes a step closer, and says past his ear, “Would you like that? Seeing me in my skivvies?”

Something akin to a bubble wells up inside Pike’s chest. The world around them narrows, as if he and McCoy are the only two people in the dim light of the nearly empty bar.

“Yes,” Pike breathes.

“Braves win, and we’ll see what happens,” McCoy says.

Pike feels a warm, strong hand grasp his wrist, sees McCoy’s hazel eyes bright with an odd light, and before he can take another breath to steady his wildly beating heart, McCoy is gone.

*~*

“It’s open!”

Pikes hears the front door open, then shut with an audible bang. “Chris?”

A delightful frisson of anticipation slides through him at the sound of the soft Southern drawl. But he shakes it off. _For god’s sake, get a grip,_ he tells himself. He turns and immediately drops the glass bowl he’s holding. It shatters on the ceramic tiled floor. “Well, fuck.”

“Chris, y’all right?” Leonard’s voice comes closer.

"Yeah, dammit. Dropped a bowl." He stoops to pick up the larger pieces, and then two hands with long, slender fingers enter his field of vision. Chris looks up into warm hazel eyes.

"Got a case of the dropsies?" McCoy asks. There's an underlying note of concern.

"Sort of. Trying to do too many things at once." Pike rises to toss the shards into the recycler; McCoy does the same with his.

"My ex always said men can't multi-task well," McCoy says with a snort. Pike walks to a small closet and pulls out a broom. "Here, let me do that." He takes the broom.

"Thanks."

"Whatever you're feeding me it smells pretty damn good."

"Don't get too excited. It's just meat loaf and mashed potatoes and green beans."

"Oh my god!" McCoy groans. "I have died and gone to heaven. My favorite dinner ever."

Pike is _delighted_. "My mom's recipe. And my favorite as well, especially on a chilly, rainy night." It's then that Pike notices McCoy's damp hair and face. "Why didn't you say you were wet? Here, take this." Pike hands him a clean dish towel.

"Not gonna melt, you know," McCoy grouses good-naturedly, but he runs the towel over his face and then his hair.

Pike looks on in amusement as McCoy's hair emerges mussed and spiky from the vigorous drying. He can't help but reach over and drag his fingers lightly through the damp peaks, rearranging the strands to find the definite part McCoy seems to favor. “There. You won’t look too much like you just tumbled out of bed.”

McCoy blinks. “Would that be so bad?”

And once again, Pike feels time narrowing, as if entering a softly lit tunnel with only McCoy’s eyes and a hint of a smile on his lips. His response needs to be precise. Appropriate.

Pike cocks his head, just a touch, and allows a coy smile to light his face. He takes a quarter step towards him. “Actually, no. It wouldn’t.”

“Really?” McCoy raises an inquiring eyebrow.

“Really.” Simple. Declarative.

“Will any bed do?”

Pike nearly sucks his breath in, but catches it just in time. He leans in closer to whisper just centimeters from McCoy’s lips, ”Maybe, but I do have one in mind.”

He sees McCoy’s eyes dilate, and his breath stutters. Just as Pike takes his wrist in hand, the buzzer on the oven goes off.

And just like that, time resumes. “Guess that was grand timing, eh?” McCoy says softly.

“I’ve never hated anything more right now in my entire life.”

Then, someone’s stomach gurgles.

They both laugh, easing the tension further. Pike’s mind focuses on the final preparation for dinner. “The potatoes should be done,” Pike says, directing McCoy with a spoon. “Salad is in the fridge. I’m going to make some gravy.”

McCoy fluffs the potatoes. “Can I admit I’m a little surprised you cooked without a replicator?”

“I am a man of many unknown talents and tastes,” Pike says as he stirs the gravy in the saucepan.

McCoy looks at him. “So you are.”

*

Dinner eaten and appreciated, the Braves have the Sox beat at the top of the ninth with one out to go.

“Must confess,” McCoy says, finishing off a beer, “I never took you for a sports fan.”

“Just because I’m an admiral doesn’t mean I stopped being a regular guy.”

“Chris, you’re so not a regular guy,” McCoy shoots back. “Oh, I mean--”

Pike smiles. “So if I’m not regular, what kind of guy do you take me for?”

“Well, I---.” He stops. “Chris, I--”

Pike moves closer, and slides his hand up McCoy’s leg. “What kind of guy _am I_ , doctor?”

McCoy shudders visibly. “You are--.” He takes a shaky breath, leans in, and kisses him.

It’s a brief kiss, too brief for Pike’s taste. But McCoy pulls back, and licks his lips.

“Oh, no. You‘re not getting away with that,” Pike says, and pulls McCoy to him and into a passionate kiss. His hand comes up behind McCoy’s neck to anchor and hold him; Pike is delighted when McCoy’s arm winds around Pike’s waist. And when McCoy groans, it travels straight to his cock. He moans in return prompting McCoy to shift his head which deepens the kiss further.

Pike’s mind spins with the wet heat of McCoy’s tongue dancing with his. It lasts several more minutes, or hours, maybe days. But when it ends, with soft exhalations and a gentle tug on his bottom lip, Pike is sure it is much too soon. He blinks; McCoy has the most amazed--and amazing--look on his face. In the low light from the vid-screen, he is beautiful, ethereal. Pike feels a warm hand on his face.

The look shifts from amazed to--affection? “Chris?” McCoy whispers.

“Stay?”

“I--”

“Please?”

The expression changes again, becoming one of longing and regret. “Chris, I--maybe another time.”

Pike feels the heavy cloak of disappointment, but shakes it off with a chuckle. “Don’t want to get too involved with an old man?”

“No. That’s not it at all,” McCoy declares. “It’s that--” He looks away, swallowing. “I don’t do casual. I’m done with casual. I just want to be sure.”

“About what?”

“About what I’m feeling, where my mind and my heart are.”

Pike nods, but kisses him again. “Fair enough. But I don’t want to wait. I’m not a patient man, nor a casual one. I know what I want, and”--he takes Leonard’s hand and boldly runs it across his own hard crotch--”there’s no question that I want you.”

McCoy’s eyes flutter as he gasps. “Chris--”

Pike repeats the action, and he moans. McCoy crushes his lips to Pike’s--it’s artless and bruising and so goddamn achingly delicious.

McCoy pushes Pike onto his back; the sofa is long enough to accommodate their heights. McCoy covers his body with his, aligning their pelvises and grinds, all the while never loosing the kiss.

Pike isn’t used to being on the bottom, but McCoy has caught him off-guard. For once, this once, he surrenders, but pushes his hips up to meet McCoy’s downward thrusts.

And with a heated rush, he’s coming. He cries out with the force of it. From the sounds of harsh breathing above him, and the damp on his hand on McCoy’s hip, the doctor had a similar reaction.

Pike feels him trembling as he hovers above. Pike wouldn’t mind feeling the lean body pressed to his, but befor he can say anything, McCoy shifts and he pulls away. A strong hand pulls on Pike’s, levering him upright.

McCoy’s face is flushed, his eyes heavy-lidded. “Damn. Haven’t done that for ages.”

Chris adjusts himself, and chuckles. “Been even longer for me.”

They sit, dazed, for several minutes. Chris’s mind whirls with the heated feeling of McCoy’s smell, his presence.

“Chris,” he hears, “I gotta go.” Moist, soft lips press to his, and a gentle lick ends it.

“Will you--”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And like an apparition, he’s gone and Chris is alone again, the vid-screen sound low. He’s elated and satisfied and perturbed. “Didn’t even get to offer to shower with him.”

*~*

One of the reasons why Pike likes baseball so much is its quaint adherence to some of its ancient traditions, like playing in open-air stadiums on Earth, using wooden bats, even some from alien plants, the playoffs starting in October without fail. They stop the series for two days to give the teams time to adjust to switching to the other team’s city, even though there’s no reason for it. Transporting across the United States or to Mars takes little time at all.

The weather in San Francisco has been blustery and unseasonably chilly. He’d been caught in a downpour while walking from Starfleet headquarters to his apartment, and after taking a hot shower, he had confronted a disappointment.

“I’d like to see you tonight,” McCoy had said in a voice call, “but I’m stuck here. Tricky surgery and the hospital is down a few doctors.”

“Don’t worry. Duty calls. Besides, there’s no game tonight, so there’s no reason for you to be here.”

McCoy had gone silent for a moment. “You think I’m comin’ over there just for the baseball?”

“Aren’t you?”

It had been something of a challenge, and kind of a dick thing to say, pushing McCoy to admit to something he himself isn’t ready to say either. But he did and he waits patiently for a response with hope--bright, yearning hope.

“No, I’m not,” McCoy says.

“Good.”

Another stretch of silence. Pike fidgets as he listens to McCoy breathe on the other end of the line, and then the doctor says, “Look, Chris, I gotta go.”

 _That’s that._ “Go. See you tomorrow night, then. At your place.”

“Sure. My turn to sponsor the meal. But you’ll have to put up with take away. Any suggestions?”

“I’ll think about it and comm you later. Now’s obviously not a good time.”

McCoy sighs. “No. Look forward to hearing from you.”

And he’s gone. Pike leans back in his chair, contemplating what it is that’s going on between them. _This isn’t going to be a long-term relationship. Enterprise is heading into deep space for at least five years. And they’re heading out sooner rather than later. Is it fair to both of us to start something that’ll end before it’s begun?_

He sits staring at the vid-screen, heedless of what’s on, and then mashes the off button.

*~*

The next day, Pike is restless. Could be he’s sitting in the galaxy’s most boring briefing ever. His mind wanders, he checks his comm every three minutes, and his leg jiggles.

“You okay, Chris?” Admiral Barnett asks. “Seem a little distracted.”

Pike would rather die than tell Richard Barnett the real reason for his behavior, so he invents the lie easily. “Budgetary problems make me twitchy. This is why I always had a business-minded operations chief. Told them to keep our budget under control and don’t come to me when the credits aren’t there.”

Barnett chuckles. “This is why you’re getting the big bucks now. _You_ have to worry about the credits.”

Pike scowls. “Still, not my favorite part of the job.”

Barnett stands, gathering his PADD and jacket. “It’s not supposed to be. See you next week.”

Pike acknowledges the end of the conversation with a nod of his head. He checks his comm again. Nothing.

He knows he should have commed McCoy with a suggestion for dinner, but frankly, he just doesn’t care about food. All he wants is for McCoy to say something, do something. He’s replayed their last conversation over and over in his head, imagining what McCoy looks like when he says that he’s not coming over to watch the game with him. He’s filled with dread and giddiness at the same time. _Really, man. Get a grip. You’re too old for these games._

With that he leaves the briefing room and heads to the gym, hoping to work off the hope, the disappointment, the silly giddiness, and the boredom of the briefing.

*

When he arrives back home, he still hasn’t heard from McCoy. Pike tosses his gym bag into a corner of his bedroom, strips off his damp workout clothes and throws them into a basket in the bathroom. He orders the water on, and steps into the hot stream. It feels good, but the mindwipe the workout gave him disappears as time ticks closer to gametime. Now all he can think about is if McCoy is going to be home when he comms.

The water shuts off and he starts to towel off when the door chime sounds. It startles him. He speeds up the drying, then slips into a bathrobe and retrieves a towel for his hair.

The chimes sounds again. “Coming!” he says as he crosses the room to the front door.

McCoy is standing there, bag of food in one hand, six-pack of beer in the other. He’s in jeans and t-shirt, and looks better than anything Pike can imagine.

“I know we’re supposed to be at my place, but Jim wanted to have a party”--he steps through the door, places the food and beer on the floor, and closes it behind him--“and I thought about inviting you to come over....” He stops and takes a deep breath. “But I--”

McCoy takes a long step towards Pike, and takes his face in his hands. “Wanted to do this.” And he kisses Pike hungrily.

Pike nearly sobs as McCoy’s tongue rolls through his mouth. He scrabbles for McCoy, trying to feel his entire torso all at once, trying to get close to the man who has so captured his thoughts. McCoy holds him tightly to his body; the tie on his robe slips open and McCoy’s cool clothing against his still-warm body makes him jump.

That makes McCoy end the kiss and step back. A smile lights his face. “Eager? Or just out of the shower?”

“Both.”

The smile reaches all the way to his eyes, making them crinkle and sparkle. “Good.” He shrugs out of the jacket and pulls the shirt over his head.

Pike loosens his belt. “Not that your chest isn’t nice, but the belt buckle is a little cold.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.” McCoy steps out of his shoes and then drops his jeans and boxers. “Better?”

“God, yes.”

And McCoy kisses him again, this time wrapping his arms around his back, skin to skin, touching from head to toe. Pike revels in the glorious feel of a slightly scratchy beard and soft chest hair and defined muscle against his. McCoy rubs his hard cock against his thigh, eliciting a moan of sheer animal pleasure from him.

“We are not doing what we did the other night,” McCoy says.

“No.”

They kiss like teenagers on the way to the bedroom, desperate and fumbling, laughing as their noses bump; they step on each other’s feet and trip over the robe as it falls from Pike’s arms. They fall onto the bed, gently, and roll to the head to the pillows. Pike is on fire as kisses, deep and long and wet, that go on and on. McCoy has him in a partial headlock; it’s possessive, and with anyone else, it might be scary, but with this strong, passionate man it’s empowering. If he had any blood left in his brain he might be able to parse out the contradiction, but instead he presses closer, wanting more, needing more.

He feels a warm, strong hand grasp his cock, and he breaks the kiss. “It’s just me, darlin’,” McCoy breathes in his ear. “I got you, and I’m going to bring us both off. That all right?”

Pike nods, unable to form words. McCoy huffs softly. “Promise you’ll like it.”

It’s impossible for him to keep up, the sensations overwhelm him--hot, hard, soft, cool, wet, so wet. That amazing sizzle that starts at the base of his spine and works its way up, so that by the time it reaches his skull, tiny explosions go off in his mind as he comes, and all he sees is white and stars and then blessed, comforting, cocooning darkness.

When he comes back to the present, McCoy still has him wrapped up in his arms, not moving, but breathing slowly and steadily. It’s been so long since he’s experienced intimacy with another person that he’s already sad it will have to end. “Stay?” he whispers.

McCoy snuffles and shifts. “Wasn’t planning on leaving,” he says.

“Good.”

The game, on mute in the living room, ends in front of an empty sofa.

*~*

Pike awakens early the next morning to the sound of water splashing in his shower; McCoy has thoughtfully tucked the covers tightly around him, and that makes him smile. Not wanting to miss the show, he slowly rises from the bed, and goes into the bathroom. He knocks on the shower door. “Mind if I join you?”

The door opens and steam hits him. A soapy hand reaches for him and gently tugs him in. “'Course not,” McCoy says, smiling. He pulls Pike to him, all wet and slippery with soap, and kisses him. “Mmm…”

The water is a little hotter than he likes but it feels good as it splashes on his head and down his back. McCoy rubs his hands down his sides and up over the swell of his ass, making him shiver. The doctor feels it and hugs him, still running his hands over his shoulders and arms. “You feel good, Chris. That’s a medical assessment, but also an appreciative one.”

“Nice to hear both,” Chris says. He reaches for the shampoo on the shelf behind McCoy, who waits patiently for him to soap up. “Thanks for staying with me. It’s been a while since I’ve spent the night with someone.”

McCoy kisses him. “The pleasure was all mine, I assure you. Been a while for me, too.”

The shower stall is small and two fully grown men don't have much room for personal space. Pike feels an erect cock poking into his hip, which only serves to give his cock ideas. Good ideas.

With his very soapy hand he takes McCoy's dick; he delights in the gasp it elicits. He gives it a strong, slow pull and McCoy's left knee buckles a little.

"Holy fuck, Chris," McCoy breathes. "That's just way too good for this early in the morning."

"Well, I am a morning person," Pike says. "Allow me to introduce you to pleasure of early morning sex."

"Not sure I can take it," he returns with another gasp as Pike slides his hand up and down, forcing the head of McCoy's cock through his tight fist.

He pushes the doctor up against the tiled wall and presses into him, all the while working his hand up and down his cock. "Sure you can," Pike says. He dips his head to lick his way down McCoy's chest to his left nipple and bites down on it. McCoy hisses and rises on his toes; his hips piston forwards and back again, as if to encourage Pike to speed up his hand. "I'm gonna make you come," Pike says, and then takes the right nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. Again, McCoy tries not to cry out. "C'mon, Leo, let it go. Let go. For me."

He bites down on the tender flesh again, and this time McCoy lets out a full-voiced cry. "Goddamn, Chris! Shit, I'm gonna come. Right now!" Pike takes that as permission to bite again and tightens his grip on the man's dick.

Pike can't help but hump McCoy's leg, his erection begging for touch and release. As he does, McCoy shouts something intelligible and Pike feels the cock in his hand pulse several times; he comes just as McCoy's orgasm finishes, relishing the feel of hot water and wet skin sliding across his. It takes several minutes to stop breathing hard, and as he does McCoy takes his face in his hands and kisses him.

They finish washing themselves and each other, and McCoy opens the door to let Pike out first. They towel themselves dry in silence--a good silence where no words need to be said.

Until McCoy’s stomach gurgles loudly. Pike laughs. “We forgot to eat last night.”

“That we did,” McCoy says. As the towel clears his face, leaving him with comical wet hair, he smiles. “Not that I really missed it.”

“Me either, but I do need to eat something fairly substantial, and soon,” Pike says.

“At least I know how to program the hell out of a replicator,” McCoy says, pulling on clothes. “Breakfast coming up.”

*

“Pretty good,” Pike says, taking another bite of the spinach and cheese omelette. “I never can get the thing to do the spices quite right.”

“This is the result of many months of tinkering with the recipe on _Enterprise_. Had a lot of time to perfect a couple of my favorites. Thus, the perfect spinach omelette.”

“What else did you perfect?”

“My mama’s spaghetti and meatballs.”

Pike laughs. “I look forward to trying it some day.”

McCoy doesn’t answer as he takes a sip of coffee. “You’ve obviously been honing your replicator. ‘Dynamite coffee mix #2’ is pretty awesome.”

“I do have my priorities, Doctor.” Pike raises his cup.

“A worth priority it is.”

They finish their repast in silence. Pike allows himself to imagine this kind of scenario playing out every day for the rest of his life. He’d known love in the past, even had a long-time love. But lately, love had not been part of his life. During the long hours and days of regaining the use of his legs, even his entire body, after the incident with the Centaurian slug, he’d had the support of his parents and siblings and many long-time friends in Starfleet. They had formed a tight coalition of physio-companions and weekend supporters, but no one had emerged to take care of his need for touch, affection and sex. Phil Boyce, that one-time love, had been away on duty aboard the USS Montana and largely unavailable. He’d been lonely during that time, and to have someone who is so present and loving--well, it had pointed out to him how much he’d missed having someone in his life.

“Chris, y’all right?”

Pike looks up into the concerned face of Leonard McCoy. “I’m fine. Just thinking, I suppose.”  
He notices that he’s holding a fork-full of omelette in front of his face, and that make him chuckle. “I was really lost in thought, wasn’t I?”

McCoy nods. “Figured that.” He falls silent as the look on his face rearranges from smiling to thoughtful. “Chris, I need to tell you a few things.”

Pike puts down his fork. _Here it comes…_ , and picks up his coffee. “Is this the part of the day that you tell me this isn’t going to work?”

“No. This is _definitely_ working for me,” McCoy says emphatically. “God, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been in any kind of a relationship? Besides being Jim Kirk's friend? Not since the day before I discovered my wife had been cheating on me.” He stops, and shakes his head. “This is what I want, _who_ I want.” He reaches over and takes Chris’s hand. “And that’s why I need to stop. Before I fall into it too deeply with you.” He squeezes his hand. “I could, you know. Fall in love with you. As scary as that sounds. But you have to know--even as romantic as I am, I cannot allow us to get into something that’s only going to end when _Enterprise_ heads out into deep space for five years. I can’t do that to you, and I can’t do it to myself.” He looks down, his eyes bright. “I have way too much respect for you.”

Chris squeezes the younger man’s hand back. “I know. This has all the hallmarks of a tragedy if we let it get away from us. But I’m realistic, and I know we can’t have the relationship I’d like to have with you, or the one you’d like to have. Can you---is it possible for you to be in something that has no strings attached but still significant?”

McCoy shrugs. “I can try, but it’ll be hard. Despite what I’ve been through, I still like being in love.”

“Which is what is so attractive about you,” Pike says softly.

They don’t say anything for a while, until McCoy takes a sip of coffee. “Look, I’ll try. But I think we need to back off. Work on being friends instead of lovers.” He snorts. “Figures. On the eve of leaving for deep space I find someone. Just my luck, or lack thereof.” He raises his eyes. “Maybe it’s best you aren’t around my abysmal life.”

“Hey, hey,” Pike says, taking McCoy’s hand again. “None of that. You’re the best bit of luck I’ve had in a very long time. Including almost two years ago.”

McCoy sighs. “Look, tonight, assuming there is still a game to be played, let’s meet at the Jupiter. We’ll be less inclined to end up in each other’s bed. I’m sorry, Chris. I really am.”

Pike feels his stomach land somewhere around his feet. “No, you’re right. It’s fine. So, let’s check the results of last night and make a plan.” He picks up a PADD from the counter behind him and finds the sports site. “Hey, Sox won. Looks like it’s all tied up. Game starts at seven tonight, so I’ll meet you at six-thirty or so?”

He looks up at McCoy who looks about as miserable as anyone he’s ever seen. “Leo, it’s going to be all right.”

“Will it?”

“Absolutely. I’m disappointed, sure, but I’ve been in Starfleet long enough to understand the reality. It’s a hard life, and relationships, unfortunately, oftentimes take a back seat to duty. I’m grateful I’ve gotten to know you, and to know we have similar values, like, protecting each other’s heart.”

McCoy nods. “Yes.” He nods again and squeezes Pike’s hand, and then gives him a sly smile. “Shame about your choice of baseball teams.”

Pike feels some of the dread in his chest ease at that moment. It’s true, maybe they can be friends, good friends. And while Leo is out with _Enterprise_ , doing his duty, being one helluva doctor, he can share baseball scores with him, and remain in some small part of this lovely man’s life.

“So, I’ll see you tonight?”

McCoy kisses his hand. “Count on it.”

*~*

_Three months later…_

Chris walks up to the table with two beers in hand. “Thank you,” Phil Boyce says. “Of all the things I miss the most being out in space, it’s a decent cold beer. Cheers!”

They touch glasses and Chris settles into a chair close to Phil’s. The Jupiter is filled with a raucous hockey crowd. The match is loud and full of exciting plays. Being in the back on the bar, it's somewhat quieter, but he still has to lean in closely to talk to Phil. “It’s really great to have you back on Earth,” he says.

“Well, you know I’d still be out there if I could. Damn arthritis in my knee,” Boyce grouses. “As I recall it’s the same knee I had to have reconstructed when it got kicked on an away mission led by you.”

Pike gives him a ”I-cannot-believe-you” look. “Well, if you’d kept your big mouth shut, you wouldn’t have pissed off that Klingon in the first place!”

“He was trash talking you, you idiot. Someone had to object!”

They laugh, remembering the scene from years ago. “It was a stupid thing to do, you know,” Pike replies.

“And not the last stupid thing I’ve done, either,” Boyce says. “But damn, that was some fun, wasn’t it?”

Pike touches his glass to Boyce’s again. They watch the game on the vid-screen in front of them. He’s not into hockey as much as baseball, but Phil likes the game, and spending time with Phil is sweet. As he distractedly watches, he feels a friendly hand slide up his leg under the table.

“You miss him, don’t you? Your beautiful boy?” Boyce’s eyes are full of compassion and knowing.

“A little,” Pike admits. “He’s become like you, a good friend. I wouldn’t trade the time we spent for anything.”

Boyce acknowledges the truth of the statement and takes another sip. “Despite everything I’ve seen and done, and all the beings I’ve encountered,” he finally says, softly, “you are still _my_ beautiful boy.”

Pike places his hand on Boyce’s. It’s good to have him back.

~*~


End file.
